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Sat, 28 Aug 2010 18:59:05 +0000en-UShourly1http://wordpress.org/?v=4.2.3Dorothy, We Ain’t in the ‘Burbs Anymorehttp://sf.metblogs.com/2006/08/27/dorothy-we-aint-in-the-burbs-anymore/
http://sf.metblogs.com/2006/08/27/dorothy-we-aint-in-the-burbs-anymore/#commentsMon, 28 Aug 2006 01:26:04 +0000http://sf.metblogs.com/2006/08/27/dorothy-we-aint-in-the-burbs-anymore/One of the things that fascinates my ‘burban family and friends about life in the city is the parking situation. In my neighborhood, The Lauridio, parking spaces – if you can rent them at all – average about $250 a month. I figured for that rate, I could afford to get a ticket every week. And I don’t even HAVE to get a ticket. Meaning parking is free.

But sometimes you can outsmart yourself. I’ve only “lost” my car once, forgetting where it was parked for a few days but finding it in time to move it before the dreaded street cleaning timeslot. Admittedly, I was a bit slow to catch on to this parking-ticket intensive time when I first got here, racking up 5 tickets in about 4 months – but not a one after that. Until.

There’s a Monday 7-9 zone on the street behind my apartment, and I have moved my car there on Monday mornings in the past around 8:45. The street seldom looks like it was actually CLEANED, but there’s usually one lone car sitting sadly with a ticket on the windshield, and I give a silent fist-pump, then offer up a “Sorry, dude,” to the fates in order to avoid bad karma for taking glee in someone else’s misfortune.

Last Monday, I had to get to work early. Seeing other cars on the street, I ass-umed these people must ALSO be sly and know it was safe to park. It wasn’t. Sadly, I cannot fight my ticket. I played the odds, and lost. This Monday – I know better.

]]>http://sf.metblogs.com/2006/08/27/dorothy-we-aint-in-the-burbs-anymore/feed/0Your Particular Point of Viewhttp://sf.metblogs.com/2006/08/20/your-particular-point-of-view/
http://sf.metblogs.com/2006/08/20/your-particular-point-of-view/#commentsSun, 20 Aug 2006 17:42:06 +0000http://sf.metblogs.com/2006/08/20/your-particular-point-of-view/We have a new batch of interns at work, fresh out of college. One of my co-workers – a native San Franciscan (this is meaningful later) – was telling me that one of the guys has a tattoo that extends from his shoulder halfway down his bicep. I said, “Oh, he’s a young guy…” She stops me and says – “Wait for it. The subject line on the tattoo? San Francisco Giants.” “Huh,” I said, “I can’t imagine being that kind of fan. Hell, I would only get that on my arm if I MYSELF played for the Giants.” The co-worker shook her head again, to let me know I was still missing the point. “But he’s from PACIFICA.”
]]>http://sf.metblogs.com/2006/08/20/your-particular-point-of-view/feed/1The Inherent Kindnesshttp://sf.metblogs.com/2006/08/18/the-inherent-kindness/
http://sf.metblogs.com/2006/08/18/the-inherent-kindness/#commentsSat, 19 Aug 2006 02:24:59 +0000http://sf.metblogs.com/2006/08/18/the-inherent-kindness/Now I myself am not a smoker. I tend to smoke in bars, or join in with others so second-hand smoke doesn’t bother me. For most intents and purposes, I’m a fervent anti-smoker. I don’t want to be subjected to others smoke when I myself am not in the mood – or if I’m wearing a jacket that needs to be dry-cleaned.

But tonight, I found myself in a mood. I bought a pack of smokes at a corner store outside of 111 Minna, and got a book of matches, and found myself cussing in the wind as I tried to light one. I sought shelter in an ATM vestibule, and went through about 8 matches before I decided this was a sign I should give up. Then a stranger spoke up behind me and said, “YOU need a LIGHTER,” and handed me hers. She also warned me not to set my hair on fire.

I realized that while smoking is clearly terrible for you, and I understand why you can’t do it in workplaces or restaurants, there is a certain kind sensibility that comes with the practice. A shared experience – where people offer each other lights. I don’t know what’s replaced that, and it’s a little sad. I suppose it could be offering someone a quarter if they don’t quite have bus fare, or giving someone directions if they look lost – but not many other opportunities to step in and help a stranger out.

While San Francisco is by and large a non-smoking city, smokers seem to have created their own small society. They congregate outside office buildings, or bars late at nights, or other corners at odd times of the day. Besides the physical craving for the nicotine itself, the subculture itself must provide its own lure to keep people from deciding the health benefits outweigh the social benefits.

]]>http://sf.metblogs.com/2006/08/18/the-inherent-kindness/feed/1Study in Contrasthttp://sf.metblogs.com/2006/08/14/study-in-contrast/
http://sf.metblogs.com/2006/08/14/study-in-contrast/#commentsTue, 15 Aug 2006 00:53:00 +0000http://sf.metblogs.com/2006/08/14/study-in-contrast/I had an interesting ride on the express bus today – 2 unusual events, only 1 was a first. (It won’t be hard to guess which one.) Boarded with the usual crowd headed off for another soulless day in the FiDi, plus a homeless guy who hangs out around my neighborhood from time to time. No sooner do we pull away from the curb, but we stop at the next one so the bus driver can signal the MUNI dispatcher who is stationed on the corner to monitor – well, bus traffic, I guess. The driver asks the dispatcher what the policy is on letting homeless people ride the bus, and the dispatcher/overseer/bouncer boards the bus and asks the man with the shaggy beard and the filthy raincoat to get off the bus. He doesn’t yell, but he’s also not going to have a conversation with him. A woman sitting near me asks the driver why the man is being removed, and offers to pay his fare. The driver signals the bouncer over, who shakes his head and tells the woman in an aggressive tone to have a nice day, and that he’ll put the guy on a different bus. While I’m not unsympathetic to the plight of those who need to use the bus for transportation, I’m also not sorry this guy hadn’t sat next to me.

When we got to the last stop before the express jaunt downtown, another MUNI dispatcher/overseer/customer service agent boards the bus with a passenger and asks the driver if he could stop at Hyde so the woman could get off at the hospital. The driver says of course, and the woman politely thanks him.

There was clearly a double-standard of service being offered on the route today, between the articulate, well-dressed, blonde woman and the ragged, not-so-sweet-smelling, mumbling homeless man. But I wondered if some of my fellow passengers were thinking they didn’t give a rat’s ass who rode or didn’t ride the bus, and were just annoyed because our express bus was slowed down TWICE.